


dead girls tell no tales

by marblewomen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, and also a lot of emotional baggage, natasha/yelena is the main pairing, she has a metal arm its hot, the non con is only mentioned and is not explicit, the other ones are background or shown in flashbacks, winter soldier!natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marblewomen/pseuds/marblewomen
Summary: what natasha wouldn’t have given for an all-american childhood. she still dreams about it: the hot summers and the swimming pools, the melting popsicles and running through the sprinklers, and the pretty half-naked girls to get her heart broken by. or even the winters. with the kind of snow that doesn’t incite a fear of death, or bring with it a sense of devastating isolation. it’s the kind of snow that means school’s out. you’re at home with your family. you’re drinking hot cocoa and getting ready for christmas.in interviews, natasha always said “i didn’t have much of a childhood. strict parents. lots of studying”. what she didn’t say was “my childhood was one long winter. boots dragging blood through the snow. little girls dying for no reason at all”.since joining shield, natasha has done nothing but try to distance herself from home. as far as she’s concerned, natalia romanova died in a fire in '91.but what happens when home comes for natasha? does she turn to an old lover who’d rather put a bullet in her brain than help her? or does she let her past finally swallow her whole?





	dead girls tell no tales

_ the soldier screams, back arching off the table, hands clenching into fists, muscles straining beneath the flesh, too hot and too tight for her body.  _

_ she doesn’t understand why mama is hurting her.  _

_ what has she done wrong? _

_ has she not done everything she’s asked of her? _

_ she does the tests. the procedures. sits through all her injections without stirring a single muscle.  _

_ not once has she ever complained. _

_ she knows it’s for the good of her country. the good of her people. _

_ why is she being punished? _

**_why?_ **

_ “it burns” she sobs “mama…” her throat closes up further, inch by inch. her tongue is thick in her mouth.  _

_ her limbs feel so heavy. like stones attached to her body, hanging uselessly, idly, unable to assist her, to free her from this misery. _

**_why?_ **

_ her vision begins to darken until it is completely gone. she sees nothing. she wonders if she’s dead, but knows that she isn’t because she still feels the burning sensation in every part of her body. she still feels her pounding heart in her chest. still hears it roaring in her ears. _

_ “mama…” she begs, but only in her head. she can no longer move her lips. her whole body has gone slack. she’s not sure she’s even breathing. but she isn’t dead. she’s still drowning in those waves of oppressive agony, pain rushing through her nostrils and filling her lungs, harsh and unrelenting as seawater. she is weightless and paralyzed and useless, drifting down and down and further still, all blackness, all ice-cold on her raw flesh. _

_ the pain dissolves. _

_ just like that. _

_ like a switch has been hit. _

_ she re-emerges from the water, head breaking the surface. her eyes fly open. she sits up, breaking her restraints with a single pull of her arms. there’s a doctor to her left. a man. he looks terrified. she reaches out and wraps her fingers around his throat. her nostrils flare. his mouth moves. she doesn’t hear what he says. with a clench of her fist, he gags, blood bubbling over his quivering lower lip. his eyes roll back into his head until it’s all veiny whites staring listlessly at the soldier. she drops him. he falls to the floor with a small thud.  _

_ mama did this to her. _

_ not these other people. they’re innocent. _

_ but the soldier could never harm mama. so she must harm them instead. _

_ she tries to make it quick. she doesn’t want to hurt them, not really, but they struggle. she breaks one doctor’s foot beneath her own. he falls to the ground. “stay still” she murmurs. he crawls. she follows him. crushes his leg next. “please” she pleads. “please listen to me.” he uses his elbows to try and drag his body away. it’s so pitiful. so sad. it makes the soldier want to cry. she grasps him by the back of his lab coat, gets an arm around his neck, and snaps it sharply to one side. it’s a sickening noise, like a feeble crack of lightning. he crumples to the ground. _

_ she cuts the second doctor’s throat out with a scalpel. there is blood everywhere, all over the soldier’s hands. she tries desperately to wipe it off on her gown but it has gotten under her nails. she is so frustrated. her face falls to her palms. she screams into her own flesh, flesh that is calloused. flesh that smells like murder and rust and tragedy and death, death, death. _

_ why would mama let this happen to her? _

_ why has she let her become this ugly, ugly thing? _

_ this vessel of sin? _

_ all the soldier ever wanted to do was make her country proud. to protect its people. _

_ it’s all wrong. _

_ wrong, wrong, wrong. _

_ the third doctor is hiding. not well. the soldier’s sensitive ears easily pick up his cries.  _

_ she looms over his shivering form.  _

_ he looks so small, though he is much larger than her. _

_ she reaches for him. _

_ there’s a blur of movement. _

_ a small pinch in her gut. _

_ she looks down. _

_ the doctor has impaled her with a scalpel. her brow furrows. she carefully pulls it out. “why would you do that?” _

_ she begins to shake with rage. “why would you  _ do  _ that?!?” _

_ she pulls him to his feet and stabs him in the stomach several times in quick succession. he takes longer to die than the others. his screams hurt the soldier’s ears. _

_ he finally goes silent. his body falls still. _

_ he is dead. _

_ the soldier carefully lowers him to the ground. she closes his eyes.  _

_ she says a small prayer. _

_ she begins to weep. _

_ a door busts down, interrupting her grief. she tenses. she is tired of fighting but she will do what she must to survive. that is what the purpose of her existence has become: survival. _

_ “show us your hands, soldat!” _

_ the soldier hears the clicking of several automatic weapons. there are five guards positioned behind her, armed to the teeth. they will not hesitate to shoot. _

_ the soldier raises her arms above her head. she outstretches the fingers of her empty hands. _

_ “turn around. slowly.” a soldier orders. _

_ the soldier complies. _

_ each of the five men are interchangeable. their faces are not handsome nor ugly. they all wear red berets and fatigues colored black and grey. some wear pins and ribbons and medals that boast their achievements. their hands are all large and rough-looking. the soldier feels the ghost of these hands on her skin. it feels like a memory from another lifetime. but it is her memory all the same.  _

_ these men. they are abusers of women. _

_ of girls. innocent girls. like the soldier must’ve been once. though she can no longer remember. _

_ innocent girls like golubushka. _

_ are these the men keeping golubushka away from her? they must be.  _

_ maybe they have brought harm to her. that is why mama has not allowed the soldier to see her. perhaps she is dead. dead by those large, rough, greedy hands. _

_ no more dead girls, the soldier decides.  _

_ they will give golubushka back to her. even if she is no more than a corpse. _

_ if the soldier is to mourn her love, she will do it with the blood of men on her hands. _

_ “now get on your knees.” _

_ the soldiers approach. they hold a tight formation, but lower their weapons. they are foolish and they will pay for it. _

_ “you are an obedient little pet, huh?” the most decorated soldier, the leader, asks with a grin that makes the soldier feel unclean. he grabs a fistful of her hair. the soldier hisses through her teeth. “so pretty, too. even with that abomination for a limb.” _

_ “i do not think you are supposed to touch it, vanya. mirkov said…” _

_ “quiet, sasha. this is mirkov’s pet. her favorite toy. and pets and toys are meant to be played with, no?” _

_ “what have you done with golubushka?” the soldier asks. _

_ the one named vanya, the one with his hand in her hair, says, “so you can speak? did mirkov teach you any other tricks?” _

_ “yes.” _

_ the soldier breaks vanya’s wrist and crushes all of his fingers in a single movement, snaps his neck in the next. she takes his gun and unloads on the man to his right before he can even raise his rifle. she stomps the man’s gun into pieces, grabs his body and uses it as a shield. the man’s body is, apparently, thick enough to absorb 10 consecutive shots. blood covers the soldier’s face. makes it difficult to see. she pops sasha in the head.  _

_ the body is slowing her down. she ditches him. takes a bullet to the shoulder. grunts. another bullet grazes her arm. she feels more blood. her own. it makes her angry. _

_ the last two soldiers have taken cover behind a couple of equipment boxes.  _

_ the soldier has made herself an easy target. _

_ she rolls out of the way of a couple of more shots and takes a few of her own.  _

_ hits nothing. _

_ she is shaking with rage. “you will tell me where she is.”  _

_ she quickly decides the only way is forward and unloads in their direction, forcing them to stay in cover. she moves quickly. on stronger, faster legs. _

_ she runs out of bullets with five feet still between her and the soldiers. _

_ she maintains speed. reaches down into her boot and grabs her knife.  _

_ the men rise to their feet, victoriously, rifles aimed at her, fingers squeezing triggers. the soldier hurls the knife at the man on the left, spearing him through the left eye. she blocks the right soldier’s bullets with the metal of her right arm and throws herself over the equipment boxes and onto his body. his gun scatters to the floor. the soldier grabs him by the front of his uniform. “where is she?” _

_ “who?” he asks. his lip starts to quiver. _

_ “golubushka.” _

_ “wh-what?” _

_ “my… she’s my… friend. she’s my friend. i need to see her. i need to know if she’s okay. where are they keeping her? have they hurt her?” she jerks his face close to hers, “have  _ **_you_ ** _ hurt her? have you  _ **_touched_ ** _ her?” _

_ “no! no i swear! i don’t even know who she is! is she an agent? my squad never had any contact with the agents! our job is to keep an eye on you!” _

_ the soldier feels her shoulders slump, the air leave her body. the beat of her heart slows, though it aches even greater. “then you are not useful to me.” she begins to smash her right fist into his face. over and over. until his skull has cracked open beneath her knuckles like an egg. until he finally stops screaming. _

_ until he is dead. _

_ the soldier sits there for a while. the man’s corpse still beneath her. _

_ finally, she takes a look at herself. she is covered in blood. it makes her sick. _

_ most of it is not her own. she looks at her wounds. it is nothing serious. they do not even hurt.  _

_ somewhere, deep inside, she wishes they did.  _

_ oh, how she craves a mortal wound.  _

_ how she craves the feeling of blood rushing through her fingers as she tries to stop herself from bleeding out. the fear of death that plagues so many, yet so mercilessly escapes her. she wants it more than anything. and above that, perhaps, she truly does want to die. to be free from all of this pain. to be free from the monster that she has become. _

_ in death, she may never be reunited with golubushka.  _

_ above all, to die would mean to turn her back on russia.  _

_ she curses herself for ever blaming mama.  _

_ it is america’s greed that has done this to her. america’s thirst for blood and total control over the world is what has made it necessary for little girls like herself to become soldiers. _

_ she vows to commit herself to becoming stronger. to doing whatever it takes. enduring whatever pain she has to, to be what her country needs. to be what mama needs. what golubushka needs. to burn america and its allies to the ground. _ _  
_ _ eventually, the soldier gets to her feet. she walks past the guards’ corpses, past all the broken equipment, busted monitors, and overturned IV machines. she returns to that doctor that she murdered so brutally. she crouches down beside him and grabs his hand. _

_ tears fall from her eyes. she bows her head. her shoulders shake. _

_ there is a soothing hand on her back. “do not mourn them, malysh,” says mama. _

_ “but they did nothing wrong.” _

_ “they were weak. that in itself is a crime worse than murder. there is no room for weakness in the USSR. you did them a favor, malysh. you have cut their chains and set them free. and is there anything as beautiful as freedom? as a bird flying away from its cage on delicate, white wings? hm?” _

_ the soldier says nothing. _

_ “do not dwell on the dead, for ghosts do not exist. life is for the living. life is for the strong. and you, my child, are the strongest of them all.” _

 

natasha comes to, gasping for air. she looks down at her hands. one gloved. one flesh-and-blood. she grasps the steering wheel and falls back against the headrest. eyes closed, counting backwards from 60 in her head, pacing her labored breathing with an exercise maria taught her:  _ in. out. in. out. in. out. _

_ the eighth time this week. maybe maria wasn’t too far off base about me needing that therapist. maybe i am losing it. only took 50 some odd years, but it’s finally happened. _

natasha supposes, in a way, she always knew this would happen. that the walls of the reality she’d known for 73 years would finally cave in. that’d she lose herself to all those nightmares she created, the hell that she built for herself with her own two hands, all those years ago.

_ makes no difference. _

_ it’ll have to wait a little longer. _

_ i still have work to do. _

the layout of the house to her left is typically suburban, an image at odds with its inhabitant. the white picket fences. the ripe-looking apples hanging from a tree. the garden. the god damn birdbath. natasha tries to picture yelena crouched down with a pair of those elbow-high rubber gloves on and a big, floppy sun hat  _ gardening _ , and if she were any less on edge, had maybe gotten more than a total of four hours of sleep in the past few days, she probably would’ve laughed.

_ probably. _

she gets out of her car -  _ borrowed, soon to be returned -  _ and is immediately aware of yelena’s eyes on her. she takes a closer look at the home.

_ no cameras in sight. but then again, it’d be foolish of me to think she’d be that obvious. _

it doesn’t matter. if yelena wanted to put one in natasha’s brain, she would’ve done it by now. fact is, she’s probably already had a  _ visitor  _ of her own and is expecting natasha. doesn’t mean natasha’s welcome will be any warmer. she’s expecting a fight. not for her life. but to prove the point that under no circumstances should yelena belova ever be fucked with.  _ ever _ . 

natasha figures she’s had this beatdown coming for a while now. if she’s smart she won’t fight back. but she’s never been any good at that. sitting down and taking a beating isn’t really her style, and it isn’t yelena’s either.

another thing they have in common. not that yelena will ever admit it.

doesn’t matter. yelena’s got the advantage. 

_ she’s probably got more than a military-grade stockpile in there. and all i’ve got is a knife in my boot that i don’t plan on using. gotta love those odds. _

in yelena’s driveway is a shiny new cherry-red nissan that looks like she just bought it yesterday. the reality of it is, besides the ride home from the car dealership, the thing has most likely been sitting in this exact spot, unused. natasha’s willing to bet tony’s fortune that there’s a car, or maybe even bike, better suited for her _nightly_ _escapades_ waiting in the garage.

natasha strolls up to the front door as casually as she can. trying her best to look as least threatening as possible. maybe it’ll dissuade yelena from ambushing her as soon as she opens the door.

it’s a long shot.

yelena isn’t really known for her rational thinking skills.

she’s always been more of a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of girl.

which just so happens to be  _ exactly  _ natasha’s type, unfortunately.

natasha reaches for the keypad on the door.

she freezes.

_ she wants to touch her. feel that soft skin. slick with sweat as it is now and hot to the touch. not even when they were struggling did she get the faintest breadth of contact. yelena did it on purpose. she must have. she’s always liked to torture natasha. since they were little girls. and now, with her beating a bruise into the inside of natasha’s thigh, one hand in an iron-tight grip around her face, thumb jammed into her mouth to keep natasha from saying what she really wants to say: i’m sorry, natasha knows things haven’t changed at all. not really.  _

_ natasha sucks the salt from yelena’s finger, nibbles on her skin and says her name over and over, repeats it like a chant, like a prayer. she’s always worshipped yelena in a way, but never as much as she does now.  _

_ yelena wrangles another hand around her throat, grasps it tight enough to purple the skin there, and natasha feels the tears prick in her eyes. she instinctively fights against the plastic around her wrists and she sees the cruel mask on yelena’s face falter a bit, the slightest hint of a grin. she’s always liked winning. didn’t get to much when they were kids -- but now, it’s all she does. _

_ likewise, all natasha does anymore is lose. but she doesn’t mind it. not when it’s this good, so good she sees spots. _

_ springs dig into her back. the mattress is bare and old, like the rest of the place, squealing frantically beneath them like it’s just begging to be put out of its misery and natasha thinks, if yelena keeps this up, the poor thing will get its wish.  _

_ yelena’s angry. so angry. so full of hate and anguish. natasha feels it in every swing of her hips, the sharp bones pounding into her skin.  _ good,  _ she thinks _ . mark me. i want you on me like a scar.

_ yelena gasps, it’s a sound natasha has memorized, it’s the same sound she always used to make when she was about to fall right over the edge. she squeezes natasha’s neck so hard she thinks she’s going to break it. ‘natalia,’ she murmurs, sounding more vulnerable than she probably wants to, the muscles move beneath her face, her jaw is a hard-line, ‘i’m going to kill you.’ her thighs quiver, her head falls back, nails biting into natasha’s flesh. _

_ natasha can’t respond. she just follows her, wordlessly. _

natasha’s bracing herself against the door.

_ that’s nine times now. awesome. _

she takes a moment to allow her heart rate to lower to an acceptable level. she puts in the code she has memorized. the door unlocks. she steps inside. she can’t help but admire the foyer and the vastness of it. the classy decor, the rich smell of lavender and..  _ is that music? _

it  _ is  _ music.

etta jones, to be precise.

_ what an unexpected but not totally unpleasant surprise. _

“remove your shoes, please.”

something’s odd about the tone of voice. but it’s undoubtedly yelena. natasha pinpoints it to the kitchen.

she toes out of her boots and follows etta’s voice down the hall.

‘ _ for when you hear a call to follow your heart, _

_ you follow your heart, i know, _

_ i’ve been through it all and i’m an old hand, _

_ and i’ll understand if you go…’ _

in the kitchen, yelena belova sways from side to side. her honey-blonde hair is immaculately curled, not a strand out of place. her face is baby-smooth, free of flaws. it radiates a light of its own. she wears a flowy blouse, sleeveless, and natasha spies those tell-tale lines that say she’s been  _ sunbathing _ . 

to natasha, it’s like some kind of fever dream.

_ she looks good. too good. _

the last time natasha saw her, in a dead man’s apartment in brooklyn, her hair was wild, thick with its natural curls. she was bare-faced, the circles under her deep-set eyes bruise-like, her lips chapped and red-bitten. unsightly to eyes that didn’t know any better. natasha can only remember it as the first holy experience she’d ever had; yelena absolving her of her will and pounding her senseless was like finally getting religion after a life full of sin.

natasha doesn’t say anything. she affords yelena her peace. 

_ she deserves it. _

from the portable speaker to yelena’s left, etta jones closes with, 

‘ _ make your mark for your friends to see, _

_ but when you need more than company, _

_ don’t go to strangers, darling, come to me…’ _

yelena’s eyes flutter open as soon as the music stops.

she fixes natasha with a warm smile. “hello, dear,” she says in an american accent natasha is unfamiliar with. it’s eerily stepford wives-esque and makes natasha feel uneasy. 

“what is all of this, yelena?”

“what _ ever  _ do you mean?” yelena asks, megawatt smile still in place. she takes a calm sip from her wine. makes a swinging gesture. “do you not like it?”

“no, it’s nice. it’s really nice.”  _ certainly better than my one-bedroom in williamsburg. _

“thank-you. it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? tell me, how are you doing?”

_ you have my house bugged, you fucking psycho. you tell me _ , is what natasha doesn’t say. “i’m fine.”

“you  _ avenged _ anything lately?”

“here and there.”

yelena throws her drink back, very suddenly, and drains it completely, almost as if the two of them were in some frat boy’s backyard. natasha raises an eyebrow but says nothing. she watches yelena flip the glass over and carefully place it in the sink.

when she faces natasha again, there is something very different in her expression. something natasha wasn’t expecting. “i’ve missed you.”

“me too.” natasha murmurs, having to bite her tongue to keep from pouring her entire fucking heart out, spilling her guts all over yelena’s shiny, stainless countertops.  _ i’ve been waiting so god damn long for this. i don’t care who you are now. this is all i’ve wanted. all i’ve been thinking about for thirteen years. the apartment wasn’t nearly enough. if anything, it only made me hungrier. _

“come here.” yelena crooks her finger and natasha follows it without hesitation, follows it right into her arms. “look at all this  _ hair _ ,” yelena murmurs, “when we were girls, you always used to lecture me about  _ my  _ length, ‘ _ it’ll get you killed, ‘lena! one tug on it and your pretty throat opens up, the perfect target for the enemy’s blade _ .’” she mimics natasha’s voice to perfection. “remember that?”

“you never listened. i had to cut it with my boot knife while you were sleeping. you were a heavier sleeper then. thank god.”

“you did  _ such  _ a terrible job. so uneven. i was horrified. but before i could start crying, you said to me, ‘it looks better this way,  _ golubushka _ . it suits you.’ of course, a couple of sweet words from you was it all it took to have me taking a knife to it every three months. what i wouldn’t have done for you in those days. i was so blind. you probably could’ve told me to cut my own throat instead and i would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

natasha says nothing.

“ _ i only wish i had realized sooner that you didn’t deserve it _ ,” she spits harshly, in that thickly-accented rasp natasha’s known her whole life.

_ shit. _

yelena brings her foot down on top of natasha’s before she can get any real distance between them -- a stomp that sends pain shooting up natasha’s entire leg. she throws a knee into her stomach next, an elbow into her temple, her movements so fast that natasha can’t even  _ hope  _ counter them. she just covers herself up the best she can, hoping yelena will tire herself out. have some mercy.  _ something.  _

_ that’s not likely _ .

natasha finds her opening; yelena’s swing is too wide. it leaves her ribs open for a fraction of a second. luckily, natasha’s quick enough to take it. it’s metal on bone, and if it weren’t for that sweet red room super-juice, yelena’s ribs would be in pieces.

but she’s just as big of a science experiment as natasha, so she absorbs the blow, though it stops her dead in her tracks. for a second at least. “anyone ever tell you that thing is a bit of an unfair advantage?”

“no living person, no.”

“still a cocky  _ fuck _ , i see.” natasha feels something solid press into her stomach. “i think this might help even the odds, no?” 

_ just what i need. another gut full of lead, courtesy of yelena belova. how many would that be now?  _

“yelena, i didn’t come here to fight.” natasha says, hoping yelena will recognize the honesty in her voice and that it’ll, by some  _ miracle,  _ inspire some kind of rational thinking on yelena’s part.

it does not.

she pulls the trigger.

“ _ jesus christ!”  _ natasha gasps, the pain enough to blind her momentarily. she drops to her knees and grapples at the source of her suffering, arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen, burning as if it were being licked at by flames.

“oh, stop  _ whining _ , ’lia.  you can take it. it took five successive shots to have  _ me _ seeing spots. let us see how many it takes  _ you _ .”

natasha cranks her neck back to get a look at yelena, looming above, gun still pointed at her. “you  _ shot yourself _ in the… ? what am i saying.  _ of course  _ you did.”

“gods have the right to play the part… especially when it comes to their  _ own  _ lives, don’t you think?”

“i know that you’re upset…” natasha tries to reason.

“upset?  _ ha! _ ”

“... but we need to talk about what’s goin-” natasha feels the barrel of the gun, a sudden solid, cold sensation, like ice, between her eyes.

“no more talking.” 

“really, yelena? you’re going to _ kill me _ ?”

“do you not deserve it?”

natasha feels it then. suddenly. in her gut. the need to take every bullet left in that gun. if it’ll make yelena feel better, she’ll die by her hand.  _ it’s yours if you want it,  _ natasha thinks,  _ no one deserves it more.  _

yelena must see it. somewhere in her expression. 

she snorts. rolls her eyes. and whips natasha across the face with the pistol. natasha’s head snaps to one side. she can’t see straight for a solid twenty seconds. “we are not done yet, lover.”

“ _ fine.”  _

natasha mutters, the last of her patience burning away. she throws herself onto her back. kicks the hand with the pistol as hard as she can with her right foot, sending it flying, and takes yelena’s feet out from under her with a sweep of her left. she doesn’t bother going after the gun; she’s too angry to do anything but use her fists.

she pulls yelena from the ground by the front of her blouse. “ _ why, _ ” she reaches up and grasps one of the cabinet doors, swinging it open on yelena’s face, “ _ don’t,”  _ with a hand fisted in the back of that perfect hair, she smashes her face into the counter, “ _ you,”  _ and again, “ _ ever _ ”  _ and again _ , “ _ listen to-” _

the point of yelena’s elbow cuts into natasha’s stomach, sharp as a knife. natasha stumbles backwards, grasping at the reignited pain there.

yelena’s nose and mouth are bleeding pretty badly.

but she looks good, all things considered.

and the smile on her face says she’s having the time of her life.

natasha smiles back, despite herself.

she just can’t help it.

she watches yelena pull a knife from the block on the counter.

“you always were the best with sharp edges, ’lena.”

“flattery will get you nowhere. but… if you admit that i am more skilled than you, then perhaps i will show a little mercy.”

natasha raises an eyebrow. “will you?”

yelena grins. “no.” she draws another and holds it handle out towards natasha. “come now, i want it to be fair.”

“you’ve never fought fair in your life, my love.” natasha says fondly, taking the knife from yelena’s hand.

“says the one with the metal appendage.”

“it’s all fun and games until you have to take a flight.”

“you never used to talk this much.”

“i think it was the brainwashing,” natasha explains. “do you got any tchavoisky on that thing? that and a pair of tights might get me to shut up.”

“or i could cut that disrespectful tongue from your mouth.” 

“i dunno, baby. i think they call that  _ self-assassination. _ ” 

_ please shut up. _

yelena snorts. “why? i no longer have any use for it.”

she begins to circle natasha, blade raised, eyes hooded, determined and laser-focused. “so, who’s maria?”

“co-worker.” natasha puts up her guard and shadows yelena’s movements. 

“do you have sex with  _ all  _ your co-workers?”

“i think you know the answer to that better than anyone.”

yelena laughs humorlessly. “funny.” she makes her move, bullet-quick and twice as lethal. 

natasha catches the strike on her blade. it’s powerful enough to make her take several steps backward. she grunts and holds it, blade to blade, muscles flexing, straining, and rippling beneath the skin like waves.

there’s something about yelena’s show of strength, of skill, the predator-circling-its-prey look in her pale eyes that makes natasha weak in the knees.

_ there isn’t a lover alive as deadly as mine. _

natasha feels her heart clench in her chest. her stomach flutters. she feels like a young child in love.

“and sharon?”

there is not even a  _ hint  _ of the struggle in yelena’s voice, nor on her face. if she’s bluffing, she’s doing a hell of a job.

“wanted to take a ‘break.’ which apparently translated to hooking up with the ex of mine you just mentioned and starting a 7-month-long relationship. they moved in together a few weeks ago. said they’re thinking of adopting a cat. _ gag _ .”

“oh, how my heart  _ aches  _ for you, natalia.” 

“i believe you.”

it’s natashas turn to go on the offense. she takes three swipes at yelena, all of which she dodges in three fluid movements and returns in equal measure. natasha just barely manages to navigate her body around each perfectly-calculated strike of yelena’s knife.

brazenly, and foolishly, she decides to throw a roundhouse at yelena’s side. yelena blocks it easily and catches her off-balance, leaving her with a shallowly lacerated forearm as a consequence.

natasha hisses through her teeth. the sensation of her own blood trickling down her arm fills her with a sudden surge of adrenaline which she uses to block an incoming strike with the metal of her right arm and send a kick solidly into yelena’s stomach. it chops yelena down to her knees, knife clattering to the floor. 

yelena gags. wheezing, coughing, and sputtering blood that freckles the tiles with red.

instinctively, natasha ditches the knife and reaches for her, placing tender hands on her back. “are you alright,  _ golubushka _ ?”

yelena lifts her head, a knife-gash grin on her face. she viciously rams her forehead into natasha’s and throws her body over hers, knees pinning her arms to the ground, natasha’s own knife held closely to her throat. “love makes you weak,” she declares victoriously.

“so it does,” natasha agrees. “but is that so bad?”

“it will get you killed.”

“not by you.”

yelena arches an eyebrow. “how can you be so sure?”

“love makes  _ you _ weak, too. always has.”

“only after your manipulation. your lies and your deceit. and now it seems that i am forever doomed to take you to the very edge of your sad, pathetic life. while never truly allowing you to fall to your well-deserved death.”

“i think that’s called edging.”

yelena ignores her. “i win. say it.”

“you win, ’lena. just like always.” natasha manages to get an arm free and carefully takes the knife from yelena’s hand and far away from her own throat. yelena doesn’t struggle. she’s satisfied with her victory. 

in fact, she’s in  _ such  _ a good mood that she slumps down and bumps her nose with natasha’s. laughter bubbles up from her lips and pinkens her cheeks, brightens up her eyes, and suddenly, it’s 1959 and she’s 16 years old. there’s snow outside, but they’re keeping each other warm like they always do and the frost around natasha’s heart has melted down enough that she’s smiling back and she thinks for a moment, maybe she loves her, too.

natasha jumps back to the present. she looks at yelena’s deceptively young face. the face of a woman in her early thirties. a face that’s aged with grace, finely, like wine. it’s the kind of beauty that makes natasha hurt all over. makes her throat feel raw and her heart yearn, like it’s missing what it needs to beat. all she wants is all of yelena beneath her. all she wants is to re-familiarize herself with  _ every inch  _ of that rosy, sweet-smelling skin. 

but she knows yelena would sooner cut her hands off.

“did you mean it when you said you missed me?”

“like a rash.”

yelena gets to her feet. natasha feels her absence in every part of her body. 

“i didn’t come here to kill you, you know.”

“i know, natalia. i just wanted to get your blood pumping.”

natasha stands up as well. dusts herself off. “it’s more than that.”

“you’re right. i also wanted to hurt you. like you hurt me. i have only recently realized that is not possible. however, that does little to discourage me from trying. that’s where the real fun lies, after all. your suffering.” a smile. “but anyway, enough about that.” 

natasha looks around herself and is, again, blown away by just how beautiful yelena’s house is. and maybe a little jealous. “this really _ is _ a nice place.”

“what can i say? i’m good at my job. that is, when you aren’t taking away my contracts.”

natasha’s innocent smile is sweet enough to rot anyone’s teeth out. “i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“right.”

yelena’s got her gun back and she isn’t showing any signs of putting it away.

natasha moves closer and closer, regardless.

yelena can fill her with lead for all she cares; she just wants to get her hands on her. bend over that nice marble island, maybe. 

_ she always did like it better from behind. _

“what do you think you’re doing?” yelena asks, fingers twitching around her pistol.

“you still planning on using that thing?”

“no,” yelena says honestly. “not yet.”

“then put it away.”

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

“i’m not telling. i’m asking.  _ please _ , put it away. i just want to talk. like i said.”

yelena’s quiet. 

there’s a line in her brow that says she wasn’t ready for this. being this close to natasha. not yet.

_ it’s like i always say. we’re the same.  _

she puts it away.

“i don’t need a gun to kill you.” she warns.

“i know you don’t. you could’ve killed me with that blade if you wanted to.”

“damn right i could’ve, and i have three more on me right now, if you think of trying anything.”

“you still give too much away, yelena,” natasha chides, trying not to smile when yelena predictably bristles up, “now i know where they are.”

“so what are you going to do? you’ve gone soft, natalia. or do you not remember how easy it was for me to subdue you in that man’s apartment?”

“what makes you think i didn’t let you?”

yelena shakes her head. “you didn’t let me. you  _ desired  _ it. that made you weak. and willing.”

“i  _ was  _ willing.” natasha agrees, so close now that she can practically _ feel _ yelena’s skin beneath her fingertips. 

_ it’s been so long. _

“i was foolish,” yelena says. “i let my emotions get the better of me. i shouldn’t have done that. i should have killed you. i was  _ going  _ to kill you. but…”

“but what?”

her brow furrows. “you looked so.. _ different _ . it caught me off guard. i was confused at first. though i’ve been keeping an eye on you for quite a while now, for some reason i still expected to see that young, bug-eyed face staring at me when we finally came face to face. and i did, in a way. only there’s crinkles by your eyes now, faint lines in your forehead, your cheeks are more sallow. you looked tired.  _ exhausted _ . but beautiful. you always were the prettiest one, natalia. i guess some things never change.”

“and  _ that’s  _ why you jumped my bones?”

yelena grins. “maybe.” her mouth quirks down. “no. i don’t know. i needed it, i guess. i needed you vulnerable. defenseless.  _ mine _ .”

“i was.”

“so you were.” yelena agrees. almost somberly.

natasha reaches for her, finally, one hand grasping at her face, palm to cheek, feather-soft and not nearly enough. 

yelena squeezes her eyes shut. “natalia…” she sighs. sounding pained. though she leans into her touch anyway, even curls her slender fingers around natasha’s wrist, “this isn’t what you came for.”

“i know.”

“then let’s not waste time.” yelena pulls natasha’s hand away.

it’s like a knife to the gut.

but natasha doesn’t show it. “then why don’t you stop pretending like you don’t know why i’m here?” she asks, all-business.

“i was hoping it was my paranoia playing tricks on me… maybe i just didn’t want it to be true. all that work. all that pain. everything it cost us… we watched that place burn, natalia. we did it ourselves. you and i. we killed them. we killed all of them. and even those we  _ didn’t  _ kill… comrades… children. trapped. burned alive...so few of us actually made it… i still live with that, you know… i still think about them. i still  _ wish _ …”

“it had to be done, yelena. we did what we had to.”

“ _ i _ did it so we could be together.” yelena says bitterly. “and you left.”

“i stayed with you for as long as i could. it wasn’t doing either of us any good. what we were doing wasn’t living, ’lena. it was 9 years of running. living in constant fear of death. we didn’t even trust  _ each other _ .”

“ _ i _ was happy. just to be with you. to sleep beside you every night. to wake up with you by my side every morning. but i was no longer useful to you, it seems. you saw opportunity with shield, no? purpose. god knows how you’ve always  _ loved  _ that. having a goal. a motive. a reason to keep going. i do not need such things. but you can’t live without them. me, you can live without.”

“i haven’t been living without you. not really.”

“ha! you’ve been doing just fine, ’lia. i see you with your girls. those pretty young things you busy yourself with. you waste no time. i could almost admire it.” yelena busies herself fixing a drink. there is no longer any menace in her voice. she just sounds tired. “doesn’t matter now. it appears to have all been for nothing. someone must’ve survived. and judging by the number of  _ visitors _ i’ve had in the past few days, i would say we pissed them off pretty good. chances are we’ll be dead by the end of the week.”

natasha leans against the counter, feeling as exhausted as yelena sounds. “then you’d better make me a drink too.”

yelena’s cheek raises. “you’re really pushing your luck, huh?”

“it’s customary to serve your guests.”

“but you are not a guest.” yelena points out. “you are an intruder.”

natasha grins. “maybe. but you make the best drinks.”

“you never were any good at that, were you?”

“nope. i’m still not.”

“perhaps you  _ have _ changed. it used to be that you would never admit i was better than you at  _ anything _ .”

“it turns out i was wrong. about a lot of things. nearly everything.”

“so dramatic,” yelena teases. “that much hasn’t changed.” she slides a glass of what natasha assumes is vodka and  _ something _ across the counter.

“i think age has only made it worse.” natasha glances down at the glass. “strong?”

“enough to knock out a fully-grown man.”

“so not enough?”

“not everyone has been experimented on by russian scientists, ’lia.”

“you’d have to be one cruel son-of-a-bitch to make it  _ this  _ hard for  _ anyone _ to get drunk.”

yelena raises her own glass. “but we have our youth.”

“true.” natasha clinks their glasses together, reveling in the lack of tension between the two of them. “happy belated 73rd.” 

yelena downs the glass in one swig and slams it down on the counter with so much force natasha’s surprised it doesn’t shatter. she wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand and stares at natasha pointedly. like she’s waiting.

so natasha follows suit, guzzling the drink like it were water. it burns all the way down her throat and drops warmly into the pit of her stomach. a disappointed sigh. “nothing.”

“another?”

“yes. please.”

five drinks later and they’re sitting side-by-side on the kitchen floor. yelena with her head hung back against the cupboards, eyes fixated on the ceiling. “at this rate, we’ll die of alcohol poisoning before we get a buzz.”

“would that be so bad?”

yelena’s head lolls to the side. her lips are chapped but no less inviting. “don’t tell me you’re feeling suicidal.”

“you never do?”

“occasionally.” yelena admits. “my head is so full. heavy with all these thoughts. these memories. they can be too much to bear sometimes. i like it better when i can’t remember. when i don’t who i am or where i come from. i can pretend to be whoever i want.”

“i’ve made up so many identities for myself i’ve lost track,” natasha says, “i don’t know why i don’t just give it up. why i can’t be satisfied with ‘natasha romanoff: the avenger’. natasha has friends. a family. things i’d always wanted. and yet… it doesn’t feel genuine. it feels like another cover. a lie.”

“maybe we’ll never be more than what they made us.”

“we can’t think like that, ’lena. if we do, we’ll end up like the others.”

yelena’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “would that be so bad?”

“i refuse to die a death so disgraceful.”

“not disgraceful.  _ merciful _ .”

natasha shakes her head. “no. not like that.”

“everything is still a competition to you, i see.” there’s an amused grin on yelena’s lips.

“what do you mean?”

“you still think the other girls are so beneath you that you refuse to die as they did.”

“that isn’t it.” natasha insists. 

“of course it is.”

natasha doesn’t argue.

“do you still think  _ i _ am beneath you?”

“you were never beneath me, yelena.”

yelena’s on top of her in a flash, another knife held closely to her throat, black steel and a serrated edge, more suitable for battle  “that’s right. not then. not now.  _ not ever _ .”

“you have nothing to prove.” natasha says carefully, yelena’s blade a whisper against her skin.

“i’m not trying to prove anything. i just want you  _ dead _ .”

“then do it. kill me.”

“you deserve it.”

“i know.”

“you lied to me. manipulated me. you made me fall in love with you so that i would be weak. so that i would not best you. that is all you ever truly cared about: being the best. not me. never me.”

“that was who they made me, ’lena,” natasha murmurs, “but that isn’t who i am. not anymore.”

“you said you don’t know who you are.”

“i don’t.” natasha admits. “but i know that i love you. that i always have. even then. even when i didn’t know it. the only truth in the web of lies i’ve been spinning since i was a little girl. you’re the truest thing i’ve ever known.”

yelena’s expression doesn’t change. but she puts the knife away and stands up. looms over natasha with her arms crossed over her chest. natasha couldn’t read her if she tried. but she doesn’t want to.

_ let her have her secrets. _

“i’ll help you, natalia. if only because i haven’t gotten any real sleep in months. but as soon as this is taken care of. i’m leaving this place and i will not allow you to find me again. are we clear?”

natasha feels as empty as she ever has. her throat raw, tears threatening to prick at her eyes. but she refuses to let yelena have the pleasure of seeing her cry. it is the one victory she will never allow her. “crystal.”

natasha picks herself up. she watches yelena get a broom and dust pan from the closet. she raises an eyebrow. “thought you had a maid.”

“why’d you think that?”

“well, i certainly didn’t think it was  _ you  _ tending to that garden.”

“i like the work,” yelena says “keeps me calm.”

she begins sweeping up the glass from everything they broke during their fight and natasha leans against the island, watching her work. “it’s beautiful.”

yelena says nothing.

natasha looks to her left, through the window overlooking the sink. it’s darker than she expected. much darker: the sky like pitch and the stars many. “it’s a beautiful night.” a pause. “are you going to make me sleep on the couch like we’re married?”

“ha,” yelena deadpans. she dumps the glass in the trashcan. “you may sleep wherever you’d like, ’lia.”

“even next to you?” natasha teases, unable to help herself.

“i know better than anyone that your body is your greatest weapon. but i also know that there is a bullet with your name on it if you dare lay a finger on me.”

“ _ god. _ i forgot how much of a sweet-talker you are.”

yelena glares at her. “i think i  _ will  _ sever that tongue.”

“it’s like i said. you’d regret it.”

yelena laughs humorlessly. “and it is like  _ i  _ said. i have no use for it. not anymore. not ever again.”

“you are  _ so cutting _ ,  _ golubushka _ .” natasha gasps, clutching at her chest.

“you are correct. and i might show you just _how_ cutting i can be if you push me any further” yelena mutters, shoulder bumping into natasha’s as she pushes past her “and have care how you speak,” she adds, “ i am not your _dove_. not anymore.”

natasha grins despite herself. follows yelena up the stairs. she stands in the doorway of yelena’s room, leans against the frame, and watches her start to undress. “enjoy it,” yelena says, “this is the most you are going to see of me.”

“i am.”

the lingerie is pale in color, like her skin, and delightfully lacy.  _ she always did have good taste.  _ “looks expensive. wearing it for someone special?” natasha teases.

“ha.”

natasha watches the muscles move in her back as she opens a drawer and digs through clothing. her stomach clenches up. she pushes air through her nostrils. all she wants is to touch her. more than anything. she’d  _ die _ for it.

she watches her pull a big t-shirt over her head. “red sox!” it exclaims in bright red block-lettering. 

natasha snorts. “really? the red sox?”

“i thought it was ironic. being in new york.”

“that’s one way to piss off the locals. someone’s going to take you out, if you aren’t careful.”

“i’d like to see them try.” yelena looks excited by the prospect.

“maybe it’ll be me,” natasha says, grinning.

“i didn’t take you for a baseball fan, natalia.”

“it’s an acquired taste.”

“perhaps.”

natasha wiggles out of her jeans. she glances up. holds yelena’s wandering eyes captive. “you see something you like?”

“it’s nothing i haven’t seen before.” yelena deadpans. 

she walks over to natasha. and stares at her wordlessly. reaches out with her forefinger, but doesn’t make contact. natasha glances down at where she’s pointing: the right sleeve of her jacket. the singed holes where the bullets cut through the material, to the exposed metal, dark as pitch, where they bounced off. “i want to see it.”

her expression betrays nothing, nor does her tone.

“alright.” natasha removes the leather glove from her hand and stuffs it into her jacket pocket. she shrugs the jacket off, holds it in her left fist. yelena moves closer and regards the arm with those vacant eyes. she outstretches her hand. slowly. her fingers are little more than a whisper, stark white against black metal, wandering aimlessly over the sharp edges of each individual plate. she reaches up and up, and carefully traces over the outline of the star on natasha’s shoulder. “i’ve been living with the memory of how that hand felt on my skin. so solid.  _ cold _ . yet you were so tender with it. i always wondered if you could feel me, too. i wondered if i, too, felt foreign: the softness. the warmth of my bare flesh. i still wonder.”

“i felt everything,” natasha murmurs, “the ghost of  _ your  _ touch haunts me, even now. with my eyes closed, i could almost trick myself into thinking you were still there. that it was just you and me. another stolen night. in the winter of ‘59.”

“sweet words. if i did not know you better, i might even believe them.” yelena looks her square in the eye so suddenly it strips the air from natasha’s lungs. “why do you hide it? are there not bigger freaks in this world that we live in?”

natasha says nothing.

“are you ashamed of what they made you, my love?” 

natasha’s breathing. her heart beat. yelena’s voice. she clings to these three things. without them she feels, suddenly, that there would be nothing to keep her tethered to the reality of this night any longer. without them, she fears she would disappear altogether.

“it isn’t that arm that makes you what you are.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“how tragic it must be,” yelena murmurs, “to be a beast unaware that it is no longer human.”

and then she’s gone. crawling beneath the duvet and turning over on her side.

natasha’s heart thumps in her chest. roars in her ears. she swallows. joins yelena. maintains her distance.

she feels longing in every part of her body.

there is a long stretch of silence. natasha closes her eyes and works on clearing her mind. it won’t come easy, but she needs her sleep. she has a feeling tomorrow will be busy.

“the person who’s doing this… you don’t think it’s...” yelena says suddenly.

natasha moves closer to her. though she can’t make out her expression in the dark, she can hear the fear in her voice. she knows where her mind is going. 

straight to _ him _ .

“no, baby,” natasha murmurs. unfamiliar with the softness in her voice, with the instinctive need she feels to make yelena feel safe. it’s like when they were kids. yelena crawling into her bed. begging to be touched. to have natasha soothe the pain caused by starkovsky’s rough hands.  _ the bastard.  _ and natasha almost wishes he  _ were  _ alive. so she could kill him all over again. “he’s dead. he’s been dead for years.”

“but what if…”

natasha gets her arms around yelena and pulls her close.

she doesn’t struggle, just presses her face into natasha’s chest.

“i killed him for you, remember? you were there. you couldn’t do it. so i did it for you. you said ‘make it hurt, ’lia; make him suffer.’ so i did. i made him cry. i made him scream. i stripped him of his dignity. he died a dishonorable death: begging for mercy. i did that for you. remember?”

“i know, but,” she sniffs hard. clutches desperately at natasha’s shirt. “i still… i know he’s dead but… i see him every where, ’lia. i hear his voice and feel his touch. i live in fear that one day he will show up. that he will come back for me. and that i will belong to him once more.”

her body quivers against natasha’s. she sobs openly, shamelessly, into natasha’s chest. natasha can feel the warmth of the tears soaking through her shirt. she holds her tightly. as close to her body as she can get her before they become one. “he’s dead, ’lena. i swear. no one is going to hurt you like that ever again. and this person, whoever they are, that’s doing this? we’re going to kill them. and then, you and i,” she doesn’t know why she’s still talking, but she can’t stop, “are going to go somewhere. somewhere far, far away. together. and i’m never going to leave you. not for anyone. it’s just going to be us. like when we were kids.”

yelena says nothing. the crying stops. abruptly.

she pushes her hands against natasha’s chest. “ _ i told you not to touch me! _ ” she screams, so loudly natasha feels it in her brain. 

she is stunned to silence. frozen in place.

she watches yelena reach under her pillow.

she produces yet  _ another _ gun. aims it right between natasha’s eyes. “i changed my mind,” yelena says. breath ragged. voice and face twisted by anguish. “sleep somewhere else. you touch me again, natalia. and i  _ will _ kill you.”

“alright,” natasha says. she moves slowly with her hands in the air. there’s no doubt in her mind that yelena will pull that trigger. “i’m leaving.” she walks backwards, navigating carefully in the dark. she pauses at the doorway. “but i will be downstairs. if you need me.”

“ _ i won’t _ .”

natasha doesn’t say anything. she looks at yelena’s dark, unmoving form for one long moment and turns around, takes the stairs down two at a time. she considers going for a run to clear her mind, but she needs the rest more. 

she flops down on yelena’s couch. unable to get a real good look at the living room itself, though it’s clearly spacious.  _ good for her. _ she thinks, her mind wandering back to her decidedly less lavish apartment, tucked away in williamsburg. she knows wanda or maria or sharon or  _ whoever’s  _ wandering around in there these days will keep the cat fed. probably wanda. she loves that furball.

_ wanda. _

a sigh.

_ i am such an asshole. _

she considers calling her. for a moment. but decides against it.

_ it’d probably only make things worse. _

she rolls over on her side and closes her eyes.

reality falls away, eventually.

even for her. 

the dreams take.

_ somewhere in all that darkness. they are incoherent. faces with no distinguishable features. mouths that open but say nothing. calloused hands that reach out and touch her skin. she is looking at herself, but it is a face she hardly recognizes. a little runt with too big lips and too big eyes and an offensive-looking nose. she kills, not for sport, nor necessity, but because that is what she was designed to do. this is her lot in life. she does it for her country. for mama. _

_ pale eyes look back at her. not her own. this is a face she knows by heart. she’d know it blind. a gangly-looking girl. a waif. features too big for her youthful face. she watches it age into something more familiar, into something painstaking in beauty. something that makes her heart pinch and her lungs burn. she aches for it. she outstretches her hand but it is beyond her reach. “home is coming, natalia,” yelena tells her. “you can’t run away this time.” _

_ the rifle in her hands is heavy. her arms shake. she can’t steady it. the scope swings around wildly. “wake up, natalia!” a soldier shouts impatiently. _

natasha’s eyes fly open.

yelena is standing over her.

she gasps. flinches inwardly. “jesus. what are you doing?” she looks around herself. the room is suddenly alive with early morning sunlight. she squints her eyes against it. “what time is it? did i oversleep?”

“it is 6 AM,” yelena informs her. “i am going for a smoke. would you care to join me?”

natasha sits up. “i quit.”

“for what? your health?” yelena asks, looking particularly amused. 

“a girlfriend, actually. guess it just kinda stuck.”

yelena makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat and walks off. natasha listens to the sound of her bare feet against the tiled floor of the kitchen. a door opens and shuts.

natasha groans and swings her legs over the side of the couch. she stretches her arms over her head. her back pops. she rubs it as she stands up. 

she feels all of her 70+ years as she shuffles through the kitchen, feet sticking and unsticking to the floor. she tracks yelena to the backyard.

she sits in a white plastic chair. feet tucked beneath her. cigarette in hand. there’s a small table to her left. on it is a pack of cigarettes and an ash-tray. 

natasha sinks down into an identical plastic chair. she regards yelena for a moment: the breeze sweeping through the natural curls in her thick blonde hair, cut just beneath the ears. natasha remembers the way she’d had to tackle it with a brush, all those years ago. it was longer then. and more unruly. 

she still has that collection of freckles over her nose.  _ that nose.  _ natasha thinks.  _ as big as ever.  _ she smiles. she can’t help it. 

yelena looks at her oddly. “what?”

“i’m just thinking about how glad i am that you kept that nose.”

“i cannot say the same about your five-head. it is still as offensive as ever.”

natasha’s laughter is self-deprecating. “if you keep talking like that, ’lena, you’re going to make me blush.”

“but you’re beautiful nonetheless,” yelena continues, flicking away some ash. “it used to drive me crazy. i wanted to look like you so badly. all the girls did.”

natasha snorts. she sounds far more bitter than she means to. “yeah. i had  _ all _ the luck.”

 

it goes silent after that. the sun climbs higher and higher in the sky. natasha leans back and rests her eyes, listening to the birds chirp and the next-door neighbor’s sprinkler, the occasional dog barking and the cars passing by, and it’s all so  _ cliche _ .

“that twenty year old you were running around with…” yelena starts off, pausing to take a drag. she blows out a perfect stream of smoke. natasha watches it drift upwards before dissipating completely. “you know, the one with the big tits.”

natasha feels her body go cold, solid and unmoving as marble. “what about her?”

“i remember her from the news… that little  _ misstep _ in lagos that nearly cost you and your friends everything.”

“what’s your point, yelena?”

“no point. i just think it’s funny. the way you attract trouble. you always have. since we were kids.”

natasha says nothing.

“i don’t blame you. at times even  _ i  _ would not mind having a twenty-year old bouncing on my face.” yelena puts out her cigarette. she leans across the table. puts her face close to natasha’s. “i bet between her thighs is all-sweet... like cream and sugar, no?”

natasha’s hands flash out in front of her, grab onto the front of yelena’s shirt. “ _ shut up _ .”

“i wouldn’t mind a taste myself.”

natasha punches her solidly in the mouth. enough to twist her neck to the side. yelena cranks her head back, spits a wad of bloodied saliva at natasha’s face and laughs.

natasha feels the warmth of it on her cheek and wipes it off with the back of her hand, then the back of her hand on yelena’s shirt. yelena smiles at her with red teeth. “i think that was sweeter than any kiss you’ve ever given me. c’mon,  _ i want the metal one next _ .”

“ _ why are you doing this _ ?” 

“it’s a part of the game, natalia. the same game we’ve been playing since we were girls. the same game we’re destined to play. forever.”

“you said you were done with me.”

“ _ you  _ were supposed to be done with me when you left. but you  _ bugged  _ my house. you take my contracts from me. leave the print of your body in my sheets. the scent of your hair in my pillows. for all these years. and then you come in here and  _ pretend  _ you’ve never seen my god damned house before? do you have any  _ idea  _ how that messes with my head?”

“you bugged my apartment too.” natasha points out.

“yes. and  _ you _ like to strip down and touch yourself in front of the cameras.”

natasha can’t keep the smirk off her face. “i thought you’d enjoy the entertainment. i got the feeling it could get pretty boring around here sometimes.”

“you are despicable.” yelena says. all the fire gone from her. she knocks natasha’s hands away.

“what about those flowers, huh?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” yelena mutters. stalking off into the house. natasha follows closely on her heels.

“don’t be shy, _golubushka_ , i think it’s a very romantic gesture.”

“i  _ said  _ i don’t know what you’re talking about” yelena pivots on her heel, catches natasha by the front of her shirt, “and i am  _ not  _ your dove. how many times do i have to tell you?”

natasha ignores her. “every valentine’s day since i left you’ve been sending me flowers. i would say you’ve been my valentine every year for 13 years. but that’d be a lie, wouldn’t it? flowers or not, you’ve been mine since ‘55.”

for a moment, yelena’s expression softens. her eyebrows lift. her lips part slightly. a soft breath escapes.

and then, all at once, she squeezes her eyes shut. removes her hands from natasha’s shirt to rub at her temples.“i don’t know” she whispers, turning away, “i’m going to take a shower. clear my head.”

she remains rooted in place for a moment more. as if she’s thinking something over. finally, she says, “you can join me. if you’d like.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> im no history major. so if things dont historically make sense, you can chalk it up to laziness.  
> anyway, shout out to the five people who are gonna read this. you know who you are. chapter two will happen someday. i promise.


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